I know some people, maybe a few, maybe none, will come across this post, amidst scrolling their dashes to numb the constant pain they're in. Maybe they're doing it while already wondering what the point of it all is anymore. If there was any point in the first place.
And I get that. This world is so deeply, deeply cruel, dark and messed up. And so many of us feel so alone, so frightened, so battered that even drawing another breath and existing for another second feels like agony, never mind getting up again.
And I want to tell you that it's ok. It's ok to be afraid, to feel weak and powerless, to beg for release from the heavy, terrible duty of being alive and keeping going, when no one has come to save you so far for so long. Maybe you already believe yourself beyond saving anyway.
You're right, you're so right. No one deserves this. You don't deserve this. This shouldn't have happened to you, it's terrible and unjust that it happened to you. No one should ask this of you. No one has the right to.
But, dear stranger, dear friend and reader, I want you to remember, just as I did, that there were those who came before you, that there are those who will come after you.
And because of that, you are never truly alone, not ever.
Because you're carrying the torch of those who came before you, those who suffered and fought like you did. Their lives were full of the same horrors and indignities as yours, and many likely died without peace, but we can choose not to forget them. Even though we do not know their names or their stories, we can choose to honour them and their lives... By fighting to draw another breath. By lying there and resting and recovering our strength.
And maybe one day, just one day, we can sit up again. Just for a little bit. Then for a while longer. Then even longer. Until eventually we can stand up again.
Not for ourselves, no. But just so we may one day outlast the evil of this world, and live the lives they would've wanted to live. To enjoy the peace and safety and justice and contentment they didn't get to have. We survive, so we may one day live and find joy. For them.
I know so many of us still struggle to do it for ourselves. So do it for those who are gone. And do it for the wombats, the funny little dudes with square poop. Do it for the magnolia trees, who outlived all the beetle species who once pollinated them. Do it for the stray kitties nobody is feeding, for the bee populations that are disappearing but still keep going. Do it for Mary Oliver's wild geese, do it for the sweet little field mice sleeping in their tiny burrows, unaware of the world that is burning down around them. Do it for the truly innocent and good of this world, because they share this place with us, and they deserve better from us.
And do it for the Holocaust survivors, the Japanese bombing survivors, the Agent Orange survivors. The old and fading who weep in their sickbeds and deathbeds thinking they are leaving behind an unfeeling world that is restarting their tragedies anew, inflicting it on the new generations. Do it so they won't believe they struggled and lived for nothing.
I am not asking you to fight. We are not heroes. We are tired, we are broken, we are frightened and we do not have the power and conviction to save the day by ourselves. For some of us, the best we can do is be meat shields and punching bags for the powerful, the evil and the abusive.
But even so, even if all we can do right now is lie there and absorb the blows, we're still holding the line, for those behind us. For those who will come after us.
Our suffering is not beautiful. It is gruesome. But our survival is. Our defiance is. Our love for this world we live in, for every small, weak thing in it that can't protect itself, that is beautiful as fuck. And no one gets to ever tell you otherwise.
So live. Keep living. Keep breathing. Your existence is resistance. It is a threat, to them, because as long as you exist, that means it's not over yet.
Your wilful kindness, your stubborn humanity, your demanding words, your presence, your fool's hope, these are your weapons. You are not over yet.
Fighter, healer, lover, scholar, artist, teacher, child, neighbour, friend, underdog. You are not over yet.